


The Sound

by jemejem



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety (of all kinds), Blind Character, Canon Typical Warnings, Depression, Derogatory Language, Healing, M/M, Medication, Selective Muteness, Short Term Memory Loss (Condition), Support Group, mute character, physical disabilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-08-23 05:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem
Summary: The cottage looked unassuming and quaint, with a wooden ramp up to the front porch and rose bushes beneath the windows. A little sign was nailed above the door, reading The Foxhole. It seemed peaceful. QuietIts patrons, however, were neither of those things. Neil could already hear the raucous lot from where he was stood outside the door. Having never spoken to anyone outside of rare, whispered words to his uncle, or his cat, or his mother's grave, Neil knew this would be interesting.A blond woman opened the door with a smile and glittering eyes. Neil's stomach rolled over itself. He hoped this wasn't a dumb decision.





	1. the cottage

**Author's Note:**

> this fic contains slurs against people with disabilities. this fic also discusses medication, mental illness, rape trauma, childhood abuse trauma, discrimination against people with disabilities and canon-typical awfulness. 
> 
> enjoy, i guess?

Neil clambered out of his uncle’s car and immediately grimaced at the feeling of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. 

He still wasn’t used to the warmth of the South Carolina sun, the sticky humidity that had his curls going frizzy and his hands compulsively wiping on his jeans. He’d only moved to the quiet town of Palmetto with his uncle maybe three months ago, but Cornish weather was much crisper than this American state’s. 

He always resorted to thinking of banal things like the weather when he was nervous. 

And nervous, he was. Extremely so. 

“Neil?” Stuart pressed. “I’ll see you in two hours, alright?”

Neil sent him a panicked look. Two hours? 

Stuart let out an aggravated sigh. It’s not like Neil had _asked_ him to come back to America with him, but he’d followed anyway, and now acted like it was the biggest inconvenience he’d ever endured. 

Though, when Neil thought about it, he truly was the biggest inconvenience his uncle had ever been forced to endure. His sister’s antics were one thing—getting knocked up by a crazy, entitled rich boy, moving halfway across the world just to move back and hang around till lung cancer took her—but Neil’s tepid and fragile existence was something else entirely. 

_An hour and a half?_ Neil compromised, signing the best that he could when his hands were somewhat shaking. 

Stuart nodded, satisfied with that compromise. “Only if you promise to enjoy yourself, alright?”

Neil only served him a flat glare swivelling on his heel and ignoring his uncle’s _love you!_ He only let himself gaze longingly after Stuart’s long gone car when he’d reached the small cottage’s entrance, hand hesitating on the door handle. 

The cottage looked unassuming and quaint from the front, with a wooden ramp up to the front porch and rose bushes beneath the windows. A little sign was nailed above the door, reading The Foxhole. It seemed peaceful. Quiet

Its patrons, however, were neither of those things. Neil could already hear the raucous lot from where he was stood outside the door. Having never spoken to anyone outside of rare, whispered words to his uncle, or his cat, or his mother's grave, Neil knew this would be interesting. 

A blond woman opened the door with a smile and glittering eyes. Neil's stomach rolled over itself. He hoped this wasn't a dumb decision.

He had his typed out introductory letter on hand. There was sure to be someone here who could speak sign-language, though Neil’s ASL was much patchier than his BSL, he was sure they could manage it somehow. 

Yes, he’d wanted a change of scenery from his uncle’s townhouses and sprawling farm estate. Yes, he’d thrown a dart at a map of America and landed on Palmetto, South Carolina. But just because it was up to chance didn’t mean Neil wasn’t going to put some effort into his therapeutic, extended vacation. Maybe if Stuart saw he was coming out of his shell, he’d let Neil go travelling on his own, and Neil would be able to visit all 22 of the cities on his mother’s bucket-list. He’d be able to live his life. 

It’d seemed so corny at first, but Neil didn’t exactly feel like he could just wander into any average support group and participate as a proper member. This was the only support group for disabled people that weren’t the elderly: Neil had been lucky enough that it was only a ten-minute jog from his and his uncle’s flat. 

"Hello! Come in, come in."

He swallowed and wiped his palms against his jeans once more before following the woman inside.

The corridor lead to a blissfully cool sitting room, where Neil could already hear enthusiastic cheers echoing off the walls. He clutched the strap of his bag tighter to his chest as he edged closer, peering around the corner. 

They were crowded around a television, watching that violent stick sport they called Exy. It wasn’t as popular in England as it was in Northern America, but Neil supposed he could appreciate the merit. It seemed fun. He’d never had no one to play it with, though. He wasn’t exactly social. 

He counted three wheel chairs out of the odd dozen in the room, hearing aids tucked behind the shells of ears and walking sticks in hands. 

“You must be Neil. Your uncle said you were coming today.” Her voice was gentle as she guided him into the small home, eventually turning to face him. Her lipstick was a little smudged, but made her teeth look brilliantly white, and she rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, rubbing a warm circle into the tense muscle of his shoulder. "Did you find the place alright?"

He nodded, unsure of what else he was meant to do. 

“Is that your introduction?” She asked, her warm smile broadening. “Here,” He passed it to her. She skimmed it quickly and nodded with resolution. “Do you have multiple copies?”

Neil shook his head. 

“That’s alright. David’ll read it out at the start of the session. Can I get you some water? Oh!” She clapped her hands lightly. “I forgot. I’m Abby Winfield. Medical practitioner for the Foxes. We’ve got some disability carers doing their placements under my advisement: They’ll be sure to introduce themselves later on. If you’ve got any major concerns, health or lifestyle wise, you should come to me. David’s here for everything else, as you’ll discover.” She opened her arms. “Can I hug you?”

He nodded hesitantly and she approached him: It was just a gentle reach of her arms around his shoulders, and she withdrew quick enough that he didn’t grow uncomfortable and feel the need to step out of it. 

“Welcome to the Foxes. Now, tea?” He shook his head. “Water?” He nodded. She smiled her blinding smile again and disappeared, but not before she stopped by a greying man that sat in a withered leather chair. He leaned up to her and put his hand over hers when she rested it on his shoulder, listening with intent to every word. He seemed less sunshine-like than Abby, but he regarded Neil’s presence with the same appreciative gaze and a subtle nod. 

Neil stayed back in the corner, letting Abby give him a glass of water, and happy to simply observe his new surroundings. 

The first to notice him was a man with broad shoulders and spiked hair, making his appearance seem tall despite being positioned in a wheelchair. He grinned at Neil and waved enthusiastically, before rolling his way over. He was practically at Neil’s shoulders despite Neil standing and him sitting. 

“Hey,” He offered. “I’m Matt. How are you going?”

Neil almost spluttered, before gesturing a slice across his throat. 

“Ah. Right. Well, it’s good to meet you, Ariel. Do you want to head into the discourse room before everyone claims the best seats?” 

_Ariel_? He ignored it and followed Matt as he wheeled past the sitting room, down a ramp and through a door that’d been widened, a curtain creating a sub-sect between the hall and the room itself. 

Neil didn’t really understand what Matt meant by ‘good chairs’ versus bad ones, as everything in the room seemed plush and comfortable. Windows were painted white, with soft quilted curtains drawn back with ribbon ties. Little trinkets littered the windowsill, and the walls were covered in various works of art, an abstract mess that was definitely a group-project. 

“Don’t sit on the couch.” Matt suggested, gesturing to the small couch towards one end of the room. “That’s where the Monsters sit, and they don’t like change.” Neil avoided the couches in favour of a soft bean-bag, sitting at Matt’s side. 

The rest followed in, chatting amiably. Neil wanted to curl into his beanbag and disappear, but he could feel the curious gazes from those who noticed him. Some ignored him. Others literally couldn’t see there was someone new. None of them actively engaged in conversation with him yet, settling into his chairs instead. Abby was notably absent, the room instead being conducted by the man she’d spoken to, who had to be David 

“As some of you may have noticed,” He said gruffly. “We have a new member. I’ve got a letter of introduction from him,” He waved it. “And I’m going to let Dan read it. Cool?” When Neil realised he was being spoken to, he nodded quickly. 

Dan was a short-haired woman with large golden hoops in her ears. She cleared her voice and smiled proudly at Neil, before reading out his letter. 

“Hello. I’m Neil Hatford. I’m almost nineteen—and I’m selectively mute. I also suffer from disorientations and mild short-term memory loss. I can communicate through writing on a piece of paper if you don’t know BSL, but I’m also working on my ASL. I like the colour grey, cats and I have absolutely no idea what else to write here. Sorry.”

“Short. Succinct. Much appreciated.” David arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps Nicky could take a lesson.”

“Hey!” A man sitting upon one of the two couches said, affronted. He was still grinning though, much to Neil’s relief.

“Shall we give introductions?” Dan suggested. David gestured for her to concede, so she smiled at Neil, and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m Dan Wilds. I have severe epilepsy and I’ve been helping manage the Foxhole for about four years.”

They went around the circle like that. Matt Boyd, spastic paraplegia. Seth Gordon, severe haemophilia A. Allison Reynolds, scarred visual receptor tissue. Renee Walker, temporary monoplegia, mild deafness and mild tachycardia as a result of demyelination. Kevin Day, hemiplegia to his left side with an amputated left hand. Nicholas Hemmick, half blind, his glass eye stagnant within its socket, covered by an eyepatch. 

“This is Andrew Minyard, my cousin.” Nicky offered, gesturing to the other couch where aforementioned ‘Andrew’ was sitting beside Kevin. “He’s fully blind. Retinoblastoma.” 

Andrew said nothing, slowly leaning his head from one shoulder to the other. He seemed entirely bored out of his skull. 

“And I’m David Wymack.” He thudded his left leg, where the rattling of his prosthetic was clear. “Some of these fucks call me Coach. You’re welcome to call me whatever you like.”

“Pirate-leg, old Exy-coach, grump extraordinaire.” Allison waved her hands extravagantly. Renee leaned into her shoulder with a reprimanding nudge, to which Allison only grinned. 

“We’ve also got Aaron, Andrew’s twin, doing part of his medical residency here. Katelyn and Erik are the same.”

_Oh, by the way,_ Renee signed. _I speak BSL if you want to talk._

Neil nodded, relieved. 

“Now that that’s out of the way—“

“Welcoming, as always.” Nicky drawled. 

“Quiet, Hemmick. Should we start by High-Lows?” 

Neil watched as each member of the Foxes spoke, one by one, as they described the week’s highs and lows. Conversation bounced from member to member easily, and somehow they went off onto a tangent bout sleeve-less shirts and Matt accidentally jamming his chair with a pair of socks he’d accidentally nicked and then having the police called on him. 

He worked on remembering their names. He hated asking people over and over, so he tried his best to commit it to memory. Seth had angry eyebrows and many bruises. Allison somehow had good eyeliner despite being unable to see. Renee’s pastel-tipped hair swished in the rays of sunlight that shone through the curtains. Matt and Dan wore matching gold bands around their fingers: Engagement rings. Kevin—well, it was hard to mistake him, when he was missing a hand. Nicky wore a patch over his bad eye. Andrew was the twin with his eyes closed, and Aaron was the twin with his eyes open. 

Neil was occasionally asked for opinions, or his own experiences, which drew him out of his little mental exercises to help him remember the names of those in the circle around him. Most of the time he curled unto himself, wishing he could disappear. 

Except once. 

“Allison’s tea detox is driving me up the walls. No food to ransack at her place except lemon squeezes.” Seth complained. “She’s worse than an English person.”

_I don’t drink tea, and I’m English._ Neil signed. 

Renee grinned quietly. “Neil says he doesn’t drink tea but he’s British.”

“Yeah, fuck off with your assumptions!” Nicky crowed, ultimately getting a pillow thrown at him. He scrambled upright again. “Wait, Neil, you’re _British?_ Do you have an accent?” He winced. “Scratch that. Scratch I said that.”

_Well,_ Neil signed nervously. _Yes. You’ll just never hear it._

Renee interpreted. Nicky sighed wistfully and said “Such a shame.” He was promptly whacked by a pillow once more. 

They were all so _friendly_. Barring one addition, but it didn’t seem like Andrew spoke to anyone, including his own brother who was exiled to the edge of the room to watch. 

There was a knock on the door, mid-way through the hour. Neil, discreetly, hoped it was Stuart coming to rescue him. He wasn’t _not_ enjoying himself—he’d just had enough for that week alone. 

It wasn’t Stuart. Nor was it anyone familiar: The daunting coats and shiny badge of a detective peered into the room with his hat lowered to his eyes, scanning over them all with distaste. 

“Kevin,” Wymack said. The young man glanced over his shoulder and let out an aggravated sigh, shuffling himself back into his wheelchair from the couch. He went to move himself, but Andrew stood up and almost shoved his wheelchair into motion. He seemed to be so familiar with the space that he could navigate it without his stick, and the two men vanished from the room. 

Neil looked up at Matt inquisitively. 

“Kevin’s in the middle of an investigation into his adoptive brother.” He said, under his breath. “The one who damaged his hand enough that it had to be amputated.”

Someone had _caused_ that? 

Matt must have recognised Neil’s veiled horror, acknowledging it with a grim nod. “Pretty fucked up, right? Whatever you do, don’t mention—or like, bring up, I guess—Moriyama around them.”

Moriyama. Where did Neil know that name from? 

Wymack brought the conversation back, but it was hard to keep the Foxes from discussing amongst themselves. Kevin, nor Andrew, came back. Neil didn’t mean to let his curiosity get the better of him, but when they all filed out of the ‘discourse room’ to reconvene in front of the TV, where Abby settled down a home-made apple pie, Neil went off for the bathroom. It was down a different corridor, next to a medical examination room, with its door ajar. 

“Kevin,” Andrew said. “Look at me. Stop fucking panicking. He’s been granted bail, but I won’t let him near you.”

“He’s got enough money to slip his leash.” Kevin muttered. “He’ll be down here as soon as his parole officer turns a blind eye. He’s going to kill me, Andrew. If I just didn’t press charges—“

“Shut up.” Neil peered further through the door’s gap to see Andrew flick Kevin’s forehead. 

“You didn’t press charges.” Kevin accused, a hiccup in his breathing jolting his body. 

“Fuck off.” Andrew said decidedly, before standing a little straighter. “Someone did, in the end.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Neil was standing, but his eyes were still closed. “I think someone's listening in on us, Kev. A little nosy, aren't you?”

Neil slipped away before Kevin could tell Andrew who it was, though he probably already suspected, locking himself into the bathroom and easing himself out of his panic attack. 

So many new people. And—it seemed—so many trouble-makers. 

When Neil finally eased himself out of the bathroom, he remained in the shadows of the TV room, reluctant to commit himself any further. Dan had moved onto Matt’s lap, draping her arms around his shoulders and grinning into his cheek. Seth, Allison and Renee were cosy on a two-person couch, whilst Nicky was crowing and shaking his disgruntled cousin, Aaron, by his shoulders. The two other carers—Katherine? Eddie?—giggled behind their hands, a little ways away. 

“Here, Neil.” The somewhat familiar woman said gently, offering a slice of pie on a paper plate. Neil tried to rack his brains: What was her name? “Have some pie before you head off.”

“Abby,” Wymack called. Right. Abby. Abby Winefred. No, Abby Field. Abby—whatever. Neil wrapped up his slice of pie with the napkin for later—he didn’t like eating in front of other people in case his jaw locked—and made for the front door. Wymack noticed his departure and stood up, hobbling over. The hand he clapped onto Neil’s shoulder was surprisingly gentle, and he gave Neil a considerate look. 

“It’s a support group, a’ight, Neil?” Neil nodded. “We’re here all the time. Whenever. Just give us a call—Well, get your uncle to give us a call. Or text one of the Foxes.”

Neil hastily scribbled on a notepad in his pocket. _No phone yet. Stuart will call._

Wymack nodded. “Well, kiddo. It was nice to meet you.”

Neil nodded hesitantly, eyes drawn to a small figure that leaned himself against the wall. 

Andrew’s glass eyes were a miraculous shade of gold. He blinked slowly, gaze dead-straight and unmoving from where Neil stood. Knowing Andrew couldn’t actually see him didn’t make it less intimidating. His arms were crossed—he wore black armbands around his forearms, matching his entirely black attire—and his expression was down-right hostile. 

Andrew couldn’t know Neil was looking at him, but he pointed his two fingers to his own eyes, before jabbing them at Neil. _I’ll be watching you._ Ironic, but meaningful regardless. 

Neil turned away, refusing to let Wymack notice his new discomfort, the tension in his shoulders, the sudden laborious task that was breathing evenly. 

When Neil finally freed himself from the Foxhole cottage, his uncle was waiting for him in the car, like he’d never left. 

“Hiya, soldier.” He crowed, winding down the windows. “How was it?”

Neil didn’t respond, climbing into the passenger seat. 

It was alright. He didn’t have to see the Foxes again if he didn't want to. That was, if they left him alone.


	2. reorientations

He awoke screaming, which was often the only sound he ever made these days. His vocal cords wept and frayed under their sudden and abrasive use, and he choked on his own breath, scrambling for purchase in his sheets. His hands came up with only fist-fulls of linen, until his bedroom door was opened and the light switched on. 

“Neil,” Stuart breathed, hating the sound of his nephew’s choked screams. 

Right. Yes. He was Neil. Not Nathaniel, not Abram, just—

Neil. 

Stuart sat at Neil’s bedside and pulled his nephew into a strong embrace, nestling Neil’s head into the crook of his neck. Two fingers came up to massage his aching jaw, and Neil slowly registered where he was. 

He wasn’t in his room in the English townhouse. Nor was he in the lifeless bedroom in his father’s estate, in Baltimore. He was in his own room, in Palmetto, and there was a cat, disturbed from her sleep with his violent awakening, slinking her way into his lap.

“Sir,” He breathed, fingers combing through her fur. The repetitive motions of his uncle’s fingertips on his jaw, his shoulder, and his own palms sliding across Sir’s back, settled him. 

Stuart was well accustomed to this, and went through the usual procedure. “It’s four in the morning. Four-thirty seven, really. You are Neil Hatford, nineteen years old, and you now live in Palmetto, with me. Uncle Stuart. And Sir.” His free hand came to scratch under Sir’s chin. “You’re alright.” 

Neil nodded weakly. 

“I’ll get you some water,” He said, extraditing himself from Neil’s side and vanishing as quickly as he’d arrived. Sir stayed, stretching out and rolling around in his lap. 

He sighed, exhaustion settling in. His nightmares were far and few between, but they were intense and deliberating, disorienting and dislodging him in the most extreme manner possible. It was always when he experienced change and when he was asleep, dark rooms able to become any shape his inner demons wished. 

Stuart returned with water. Neil settled it on the night-stand and insisted that he was alright, hands only shaking slightly as he signed. Stuart knew not to double-guess Neil, and departed with a kiss atop of his head. 

When the door was locked behind him, Neil hummed gently to Sir, who was falling back asleep with ease. 

Neil liked singing to Sir. And to himself. It was comfortingly unfamiliar, untarnished—his father had never sung—and it kept his throat loose, somewhat functioning. 

“Sorry,” He said quietly, when his cat had fallen asleep again. “For waking you.” 

Sir didn’t care. It’s what Neil loved about her best. 

*

The next time Neil was forced back to the Foxhole—less than a week later—Stuart slapped his phone into Neil’s hand. 

Neil looked up at him inquisitively. 

“I’m going to get myself a new one this afternoon. Get your friends numbers. It’ll be easier to get to know them over text, won’t it?”

Neil wanted to remind him that they weren’t his friends, and he didn’t particularly want to get to know them, but he took the phone anyway and slipped it into his pocket.

Today wasn’t the typical discussion group: Instead, a round table was set up in the discourse room, with baskets of paper and glue and pens and fabric spilled out across its surface. There was music playing from the corner than Neil didn’t recognise, and boardgames were pulled out of an open cupboard. 

“Neil!” Matt crowed. Dan was sitting on his lap again, which seemed to be a recurring theme for the couple. He supposed they were engaged, and it was probably great that your partner was constantly a chair, but Neil still wondered if it was comfortable. “You’re here! That’s great!”

He waved nervously. Almost everyone was there but for Seth and Allison, and all the carers. Wymack was lying across a couch—the one that the so called ‘Monsters’ always claimed—and was letting Nicky draw henna onto his hand. Andrew and Kevin had instead been exiled to the other side of the room. They sat by the window, Andrew upon a rickety wooden chair and Kevin in his wheelchair. 

“Pretty boy’s here!” Nicky crowed, almost smudging his work on Wymack’s skin. “Hey, Neil!”

The man cracked open an eye and nodded at Neil’s presence, before settling back and letting Nicky do his work. It looked like Nicky was just drawing many penises across the older man’s skin. Neil wondered how that’d go down when Wymack realised. 

The only spare spot was by Renee, who was knitting. She smiled warmly at him and gestured for him to take a seat, before going back to her knitting. 

“How have you been?” She asked quietly. 

_Alright_. Neil signed, then shrugging. 

“It’s arts and crafts day.” Renee explained. “Do you know how to knit?”

Neil spent the next half hour being taught casting on, casting off and basic stitching. He wasn’t very good at it, but it was nice to keep his hands busy. He started on a scarf, but had already made so many stitch drops and holes by his third row that he opted to start again. 

All the while, Andrew was glaring at him. And Andrew couldn’t even _see_.

“You should keep going,” Renee encouraged. “It’s important to accept and move past our mistakes, but not to discard them and try to forget they happened.”

Neil put his needles down. _Very philosophical advice._

Renee beamed. “I try my best.”

_Andrew won’t stop glaring at me. Did I do something wrong?_

Renee lowered her voice. “He is very protective and doesn’t like change. Don’t worry. The others might tell you otherwise, but he’s quite rational. Kevin’s going through some very trying times with the Moriyama trial, so he’s particularly harsh right now. He’ll warm to you eventually.”

Neil hoped so. He didn’t need a tiny, angered blind man to come hacking at him for no good reason. 

_What happened to Kevin’s arm?_

“It’s best if you ask him yourself.” Renee offered. “He doesn’t like being talked about. Now, do you want to learn a pearl stitch?” 

Neil’s scarf was marvellously shitty, but he followed Renee’s advice and kept going rather than restarting. He’d done maybe ten centimetres when a hand tapped on his shoulder. Dan smiled down at him and beckoned him with her hand, so he bid Renee goodbye and rested his knitting on the table. 

Dan offered a notepad and pen and Neil took it gratefully before she nodded and set off. They walked down the corridor with the medical office: The other door lead outside, into what seemed to be a small garden. 

“I know we already went through the introduction stuff last week, but I always like to get to know new Foxes when they come back.” She smiled warmly. “This is my courtyard. Do you like it?”

It was lovely. On the north-facing side of the cottage, it always received sun, its plants growing fervently and the brick pavement carefully laid into a neat pattern. There were various citrus trees in the corner and a large range of herbs and produce that Neil couldn’t name for the life of him. Plants weren’t exactly his strong suit. 

He nodded.

“We all have our little things here.” She insisted. “Renee set up the arts and crafts sessions, I’ve been growing this garden for a few years—do you want a cherry tomato? They’re really good right now.” Neil took it from her grasp and ate it hesitantly as she continued on, covering his mouth. “I mean, Seth’s always been into the music scene, and Allison mucks around with him with singing and makeup—don’t ask me how she does it. But we’re all here to better ourselves. The Foxhole can be that place for you, too.”

Neil didn’t really know what to say to that. 

“Palmetto’s not a big town.” Dan said gently. “Word gets around, Neil. Is there anything you wanted to tell me before someone else gets the chance?”

Neil wasn’t exactly inclined to share secrets about himself, but he _was_ interested in this Moriyama name. He scrawled on his notepad quickly, tearing it off and giving it to her. 

_Where have I heard the name Moriyama?_

She sighed, crinkling the paper up as she bent over to pick a sprig of lavender. She tucked it behind her ear. “They’re rich bastards, Neil. Stock-masters, debt collectors. Kevin’s mother had a complicated history with them, became reliant on their loans to keep up with Kevin’s medical bills as a kid. He ended up going to live with the family as one of the son’s pet-projects. I don’t know where you’ve heard the name, but they’re majorly successful across the east coast.” 

His father was a business tycoon on the east coast. Made sense he vaguely recognised the name, then. 

“We’ve got more than one upperclass outcast, come to think of it.” Dan murmured. “It seems to be a running trend. You’re either from the absolute pits, or the sparkling glass skyscrapers. Either way, we’re all unwanted and we’ve all come crawling on our hands and knees to find peace here.” She nudged his shoulder. “Maybe you can too, hey?”

Neil just nodded. 

Peace. 

Sounded nice. 

“Oh, Andrew,” Dan started, having glanced back over her shoulder. “Fuck, you really know how to sneak up on people. What’s up?”

“It’s not my fault that you all love the sound of your own voices.” The man said. “I’m stealing him from you.”

Dan frowned. “For what?”

“Relax,” He said, but Neil was pretty sure that elicited the opposite effect. “We’re just going for a walk, aren’t we?” Andrew tilted his chin towards Neil. “You’re not going to let the blind man wander in circles, are you?” 

Neil scribbled hastily on his notepad. 

“Neil asks, word for word,” Dan grinned. “How the fuck am I supposed to talk to you?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Andrew leaned off the doorway, walking back inside. He liked to lean on things. “I’ll do all the talking. Come on.” 

Dan let him go with a small wave and a lop-sided frown. Neil left the serenity of Dan’s garden in favour of being grabbed by his shirt sleeve and dragged towards the front door. 

“If you’re really that bothered by it,” He gestured to his eyes. “Snap once for yes, twice for no. Got it?”

Neil rolled his eyes, but dutifully snapped his fingers once. 

Andrew’s smile wasn’t pleasant. It was more of a sinister curl to the lips, baring just a hint of his teeth and vanishing before it could reach his eyes. “Let’s walk, then.” 

They made their way down the ramp: Andrew kept one hand in his pocket, and the other keeping his stick in front of him. It’s methodical tapping across the pavement was almost soothing, until Neil remembered Andrew was the furthest thing from comforting. 

“Let me get this straight, _Neil Hatford_.” He leered. “You’ve hopped on over from England with your uncle, for what? Recuperation? A change in scenery? Whatever. Maybe it’s different in England, but privacy is respected, here in the land of the free.” 

_And the land of capitalist slavery._ Neil didn’t say. Couldn't say.

“And I’m blind, not stupid.” Andrew arched a brow as they continued to walk down the street. “So, tell me, you were the one listening in on Kevin and I the other day, weren’t you?”

Neil snapped his fingers once. Yes. 

“And you’ve been asking around about him. Kevin, that is.” Andrew leered. “Yes, I know, of course I know. I hear everything.” 

Neil let out a frustrated sigh. 

“It’s not a complex tale. Sadistic rich boy gets a disabled adoptive brother. Rich boy and disabled boy are constantly competing against one another—intellectually, of course. Kevin hasn’t got much on anyone physically.” Andrew snorted. “Until Riko gets sick of losing to retarded Kevin, gets sick of being overshadowed by spastic Kevin, and tests whether or not Kevin would be able to feel losing his hand.” 

Neil winced. Andrew used derogatory language so casually. Neil supposed no one was bothered—or stupid enough—to try and correct him. 

“Shocking revelation, Kevin’s immobilised, not numb.” Andrew drawls. “So, his hand gets amputated, and his ass gets booted down here to recuperate in the warm, cuddly company of his father. Isn’t that sweet?” 

Neil snapped twice. _No_. 

Andrew laughed again, tipping back his head with it and baring his throat. When he came-to, he turned and smiled wolfishly at Neil again. “Has that satisfied your curiosity? Actually, scratch that, I couldn’t care less.” 

That was when Andrew grabbed the collar of Neil’s shirt, gripping it in a tight fist with enough strength that he could probably chuck Neil like a rag-doll. His lips smelled like strawberry-flavoured gum and nicotine. 

“Stay away from my things, Hatford.” Andrew threatened with his unstable smile. “Or I’ll deal with you accordingly. The others will warn you away, and you should listen to them. I've got too many pills in my system. I'm too fucked up. But I'm no less of a threat.” He let Neil go and shoved him back, swinging his walking stick over his shoulders and walking back to the Foxhole cottage without an issue. 

_Research Andrew Minyard,_ Neil reminded himself, somewhat dazed. 

Whether or not he remembered to do so was future Neil’s problem. 

*

“Hm.” Neil hummed into Sir’s fur, lying on his stomach. He’d borrowed his uncle’s laptop for the evening and was scrolling through South Carolina’s arrest records. 

Minyard: Three entries. 

_2017, November. Aa.Minyard and D.Spear arrested. Aa.Minyard suspected of assault with grievous bodily harm against D.Spear. D.Spear suspected of serial sexual assault (child and adult). Aa.Minyard granted bail: Found not guilty on grounds of defence of An.Minyard. D.Spear conditioned with restraining order (no bail): Found guilty. Sentenced for 21 years. _

_2016, August. An.Minyard arrested, suspected of assault with grievous bodily harm of P.Johns, C.Smith, J.Mollow and T.Ernest. An.Minyard found not guilty on the grounds of necessary self-defence (vision impairment) and defence of N.Hemmick (vision impairment)._

_Link: Californian Arrest Records, 1 entry found under **Minyard**._

Neil hummed again, scratching the cat’s jaw. The link showed details of Andrew’s juvie term: Where, how long, when, why. 

It was suddenly too much, like Neil hadn’t already invaded Andrew’s privacy enough. But it was all publicly available, and it didn’t seem like Andrew truly cared about himself, rather, only seemed to be bothered when Neil meddled with or asked after Kevin. 

He closed the laptop gently before placing it upon his desk and nestling under his covers. A cold rectangle pressed against the exposed skin of his stomach where his shirt had ridden up, and Neil extracted it to find Stuart’s phone. 

Neil frowned. He didn’t really know how to use the thing—or want to, for that matter—but Neil was curious to a fault, anyway. It was what landed him in shit as a kid. It was what landed him in shit with Andrew. He really should know better by now, but he tended to have a lot of time on his hands, as someone who didn’t talk much. 

Or at all. 

He plugged the phone into the charger that had the insulation peeling off with age, watching until the screen glowed with life. The background was black, and the time read two in the morning. 

Neil hadn’t meant to stay up so late. He was going to fix his schedule one of these days. When he found the motivation to do so. 

When he unlocked the phone, it began to buzz. He almost yelped but he noticed the little notifications at the top of the screen just in time. 

It wasn’t like Neil was incompetent with technology. He just never felt the need for it. He tapped on the message from the unknown number and read it slowly. 

_ Hi Neil!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _

_It’s me, Nicky. The cute one from support group <<<<33333. Wymack passed this number onto me, which he said your uncle gave to him to distribute, because you’d just got a new phone. FUN!!!!! I figured I’d give you a list of everyone’s numbers to help fill up your contacts AND so we can invite u places for Fun Foxy Times. Yes? Yes! (You don’t get a say in these matters btw you have to come). _

_See you soon!!!! _

_Xoxoxoxo nicky _

Neil read the message again and again, unsure of where to start. He didn’t bother putting in the numbers he listed under names: He didn’t even both giving Nicky a contact. The only name in his phone was Stuart’s, and he liked it that way. 

It became so overwhelming, so mentally exhausting, that Neil just let it slip out of his hand as he stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He must have drifted off to sleep, because when he woke there was sunlight streaming through the slits in his blinds, and Sir was scratching at the door to get to her litter box. 

Neil stumbled out of bed to let her out and almost tripped over his phone’s charging cord, remembering the text message he’d received with great reluctance. 

He opened the message stream again, and slowly typed 

_Thanks. see you soon._

As soon as it sent, he turned the phone off and clambered back under his blankets, willing himself to forget about the Foxes and the mobile phone and the constant itch in his throat, like he’d inhaled tiny sharps of glass. 

He curled into the tightest ball possible and closed his eyes. 

Another day. He’d make an effort to get better—_be_ better—another day. 

*


	3. nuisance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for neil's shitty dad am i right
> 
> also for panic attacks
> 
> (yes its the backstory chapter)

Neil decided that he missed pubs. 

The American equivalent to a pup seemed to be a diner, where local teens gathered and chucked fries into each other’s milkshakes and where college students and truckers alike slaved over coffee refills and fatty plates of hangover cures. 

Pubs were far more—elegant. With their Sunday roasts and wood fires and worn leather couches crowded around the football, history reeking from the wooden beams across the low ceilings and stained glass panes catching the sunlight, they were, definitely, far superior to the American diner. This diner, _Sweeties_, was no exception. 

Neil shouldered his way through the glass door and saw the chaotic support group as they yelled raucously at one another across the table. Renee, Kevin and Matt book-ended the table in their chairs, whilst Andrew’s lot took up one side, Dan, Seth and Katelyn taking the other. Katelyn had made sure to sit opposite Aaron to make eyes at him, of which he was avoiding by hiding his red cheeks behind a thickshake. 

“Neil!” Nicky waved enthusiastically. “Hey, glad you could make it!”

Neil just nodded, sliding into the last chair available, between Dan and Matt. Dan ruffled his hair affectionately and Matt clapped his shoulder, handing him a menu. 

They were getting brunch, as they called it. Both breakfast and lunch options were available, so Neil opted for fruit and yogurt, waiting patiently for a server. 

When the woman arrived, Neil was relieved to see that she was largely comfortable with the unusual group, automatically scribbling down some of the more regular attendees’ orders without them asking. 

“And you?” She smiled toothily at Neil. 

He held up the menu and pointed to his yogurt. 

She made a face, shoving the pad into her pocket with a twist to her lips. “You could at least look at me when you order. Common courtesy, you know.” Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she waltzed away. 

Neil’s ears burned. This was exactly why he preferred to stay at home, where no one would ask him questions and end up making a fool or a bigot out of him.

“Hey, ignore her.” Dan nudged him. “She doesn’t know.”

“She still doesn’t have to be so rude,” Matt countered. “He’s with our lot: That should speak for something, shouldn’t it?”

_Don’t look disabled._ he wrote onto his napkin.

“So?” Matt challenged. “Neither does Dan. Nor does Seth. Wymack’s pretty banal looking in winter, and Allison and Andrew could be considered somewhat human if they keep their eyes closed and everyone stays at least ten feet away from them.”

“Are you talking shit, Boyd?” Allison challenged. “I bet I could take you. Your wheels squeak that bad: It’d be easy.”

Matt threw his teaspoon at her and it smacked against her forehead. She yelled indignantly but Renee didn’t let it escalate further with a gentle smile, placing her hand over Allison’s fist. 

“Is that all you’re eating?” Nicky cried when he saw Neil’s yogurt being served. Neil nodded hesitantly. “Christ, no wonder you look like a compact Calvin Klein model.” 

“Maybe if you just adhered to your eating programs,” Kevin started. 

There was a collective groan. Neil hid the quirks of a smile behind his spoon. 

Maybe it would grow easier to be around these people. They had seemed to have initiated him into their small circle, adding him into group chats that were too chaotic and fast-paced to follow properly. Perhaps he’d be able to find a place here, like he wanted to. Like he needed to. 

He looked over the contacts Nicky had sent him. 

He’d put their names into his phone one day. If he remembered to. 

*

Neil knew the Foxes were all individual and complex in their own right, some more than others— Andrew was volatile, and Kevin was damaged—but Allison was downright peculiar. What Neil understood was that she’d been rejected by her family, who still supported her financially, but essentially left her to do whatever she pleased. 

She was also surprisingly patient, for all of her scathing belittling and abrasiveness. It was like she used her tongue like a weapon, her appearance adding salt to a wound. Neil couldn’t remember ever appreciating girls in the way that most guys did, but he could acknowledge that she was conventionally beautiful.

It was how they’d worked out a way to talk, inspiring by the way that she dragged her nails over the table top at Sweeties, the way she traced Braille with her fingertip. 

He signed to Renee after the conclusion of his sixth discourse session, his sixth week as a Fox. It was just him, Allison, Renee, Matt, Dan and Seth left.

_Can you ask Allison if she would be able to decipher me if I traced letters on her hand?_

“My sweet child,” Allison cooed, pinching his cheeks between her hands after Renee relayed his message. “What a good idea. Let’s try it.”

H-E-L-L-O, he traced slowly, carefully. 

Allison smiled slowly, eyelids fluttering. “Hi, Neil. Isn’t this fantastic?”

Neil smiled hesitantly. y-e-s.

“I’d love to hear your thoughts.” She clasped his hand tightly. “I’m throwing a small party, partly for Renee’s birthday—“ The other woman made a small noise. “Which she’s fighting against because of her selfless, humble nature, yes, we know you’re perfect in every way, Renee.” Allison cleared her throat. “I digress. It’s close to Renee’s birthday, and it’s also well-close to my bastard father’s own birthday, and I figured I would give him a lovely reminder of what he lost by spending copious amounts of his money, as his birthday gift. What do you think? We could hit it all in one night. Perhaps rent out a club in Columbia, get a limousine for us all, open bar all night—I’d dress everyone to the nines. It would be incredible.”

N-O-t—M-Y—S-C-e-N-e—B-U-t—S-O-U-n-D-S—F-u-n. 

“Oh, you’re coming, Neil.” She took a handful of his hair. “You’ve got no choice. Nicky’s ever faithful to Erik, but I don’t think he’s just waxing lyrical about your cheekbones, even if I can’t see them for myself. It’d be a crime if I didn’t do something with you, just once.”

Neil flushed. What about his cheekbones? 

Desperate to change the topic, he asked I—N-e-V-e-R—H-e-A-R-d—t-H-E—F-U-L-L—S-t-O-R-Y—A-b-O-U-t—U-R—F-A-t-H-e-R.

“Real subtle.” She said wryly, before settling further into the couch. “Well, I developed cataracts when I was seriously young. The doctors advised my parents to wait until I’d reached adolescence, or at least school-age, before performing surgery. It’d be too risky otherwise.” She spread her palms. “What did they do? They found a sketch-ass doctor who was willing to operate on a child and botched it completely. Ruined the photoreceptors in my eyes. When I was 16 my father decided I was too embarrassing to be the heiress to his fortune, so he cast me out and wished me well. Hate the old fuck.” She snorted. “Rich people. We’re the worst. Hey, speaking of, there are bets riding on you. Seeing as your uncle drives something that sounds flashy as hell, I’m assuming you come from money.”

y-e-s.

Allison grinned. “_Knew_ it.” She leaned over the couch’s arm chair. “Seth, cough up! Neil’s got rich daddy issues too!” 

Neil spluttered. He did _not_—

Well. Really, he did, didn’t he? How humiliating.

Seth scowled. “Seriously, man? You dress like you’ve never slept inside in your life.”

Neil made an indignant face, which only caused Matt to jostle him, grinning, whilst Dan countered Seth with a weak punch to a shoulder and a grin. 

“I’m glad you can talk to Allison, now.” Dan offered when things had quietened again. 

Neil nodded, glancing towards the door where Andrew had disappeared with his family in tow. 

Matt arched his eyebrow at Neil’s distracted gaze, but he just shook his head and let conversation wash over him once more. Matt accepted it with a nod. 

There was no point in trying to get through to Andrew. He was dangerous. Too dangerous. 

Neil had enough to worry about.

*

Neil frowned at the note upon the fridge. It was in his own writing, but he had no recollection of sticking it there. All it says was _ALLISON 6!!_ but Neil had no clue what that was supposed to mean. 

Fucking hell. Past self really did him dirty sometimes. 

He contemplated texting his uncle, but Stuart was at work and preferred not to be disturbed. Not for the first time, he turned to Matt instead. Texting, he found, was a neat way around his whole ‘selective mutism’ issue. The others probably knew more about him from his sparse texts than what they’d learned over the last few weeks he’d been attending the Foxhole support group and its various activities. 

_ Matt why did I write a note that says Allison 6 on my fridge?_

**Oh! Allison’s having that party remember? Did u need a lift? we're getting to the club soon **

Did he need a lift? It was almost 5:50. He’d need more than a lift: He’d need a whole ass hour to mentally prepare himself for another Fox outing. He needed to shower and dress and—was it a birthday party? Did he have a present for her? He couldn’t remember for the life of him. Was it even for Allison? 

_yes please_ he wrote back, rushing immediately upstairs. He had to have clothes that weren’t just tracksuit pants and old t-shirts somewhere, didn’t he? Sometimes Stuart had made him go to church when he was younger, but he doubted he had brought any of those Sunday clothes. 

He found heavy leather boots that had seemed like a good purchase at the time but that he’d never worn. They were more suited to the loose-sleeved shirts stuffed at the back of his cupboard, but he had scars, and he refused to let anyone see them. 

Jeans, boots, a shirt, a coat - no, it was too warm for a coat. Or was it? And were his jeans too ratty? He had no idea how to measure that. He’d never felt so acutely worried about a singular outing—the rest of them knew exactly how he dressed, so what had changed? His subconscious was insisting upon something that had slipped his mind and he was scrambling for it like water slipping between his fingers.

It wasn’t rare for Neil to grit his teeth and see the flash of the kitchen bench past his eyes as he cursed his father, over and over. Fuck Nathan for striking Neil so hard that it sent him against the corner of the kitchen bench. Fuck Nathan for hitting his head another time after his jaw had already been shattered, grabbing a fistful of his hair and slamming it into the pristine marble. 

Fuck that house in Baltimore and fuck his mother for standing by instead of taking him and running away and _fuck Nathan_—

The door opened behind him, and it could only be Matt, but it didn’t matter. He had already shaken the bottle and unscrewed the cap. “Fuck.” He croaked, letting his head tip upwards. “_Fuck_. I’m making you late and I can’t remember anything I was supposed to do in preparation of this, I can’t even remember what it is, I can’t remember where I put my phone and I can’t get _him_ out of my head and I can’t—“ He choked on his inhale, wrapping his arms around his chest. 

“Your phone is on the table by the front door.” Came an unexpected voice. “Next to your house keys, and a gift you’ve wrapped and labelled for Renee. All you need is some clothes. And to breathe. That might help.”

Neil slowly turned around to see Andrew who was stood at his door, unimpressed as usual. 

“Where’s Matt?” He croaked. Adrenaline raced through his veins, his heart thudding louder than his terribly weak voice. 

“I was closer.” Was all he said. “Hurry up.”

Just like Andrew promised, his phone, keys and Renee’s present were waiting by the front door. He collected them and locked the house behind him, ears burning in embarrassment. Andrew had heard him speak. He shouldn’t have been so careless—he knew better than to speak out of turn. 

He closed his eyes as he found himself settled into Andrew’s car—driven by Nicky, obviously—letting himself block out all conversation around him. He was sure that someone pestered him multiple times, but couldn’t afford the mental space to care. 

What did Andrew thing of him, now? That he was a liar, with this selective-mutism front? That he was insane? That he was melodramatic and idiotic?   
This was why Neil didn’t socialise prior to this whole mess. This was why Neil should never have let himself grow comfortable with the Foxes, because then he could fuck up and let someone too close, like his mother warned. 

_Look what happened to us when I went off with your father, Abram,_ she insisted._ Look at what others can do to you. _She’d always tap him on the jaw as a reminder. _You can’t trust anyone. They’ll just hurt you._

Perhaps it was time he asked Stuart if they could move back to England. 

Allison, as promised, had rented out a room of a club named _Eden’s_, and Andrew directed Nicky to a back-entrance to help Kevin up and inside whilst in his chair. Neil kept to the back of the group, remaining dead-silent and curled in on himself. 

“Neil, you made it!” Matt cheered. The music was sickeningly loud, and it seemed as though the Foxes weren’t the only ones there. The room was crowded. “Neil?”

“Leave him alone.” Andrew said, falling back from Kevin’s side.

Matt looked between Andrew and Neil, baffled, until Neil nodded, and he let it slide. “Well—can I get either of you anything to drink?” 

They both declined. Neil let himself be dragged by Andrew, who twisted his fingers into the hem of his shirt and pulled tight enough that if someone looked, they’d see the scars warped across his back. He didn’t have time to worry about it, seeing as he was being lead into a fire stairwell. Andrew seemed to be familiar with the way, requiring no guidance as he marched up the three flights and let himself out onto the roof with a specific jostle of the door’s handle. 

The warmth was beginning to bleed out of the day as light bled from the sky, casting harsh shadows across Andrew’s skin. Neil let himself be lead to the roof’s ledge, where Andrew sat and tilted his chin towards the never-ending horizon. Columbia wasn’t a magnificent city, but it was large enough that a few buildings rose above the din and glittered in the sunset.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Neil.” Andrew said. There was something about his voice that’d changed. He’d lost that seemingly induced smile, but Neil was pretty sure that was due to his pain medication. Why would he have skipped his pain killers? “But you’re not usually this pathetic.” 

Neil had no way to respond to that. 

Andrew made a derisive noise and shot out his hand, faced down. “Try your stupid little thing you do with Allison, if you’re so desperate to say something.”

Neil noticed the way Andrew’s hand flinched involuntarily when Neil took his palm and rested it on his knee. 

i-m—n-o-t—u-s-e-d—t-o—h-a-v-i-n-g—p-e-o-p-l-e—w-h-o—w-a-n-t—t-o—t-a-l-k—t-o—m-e.

“Well, get used to it.” Andrew muttered. “They’re relentless. It’s sickening.” 

Neil, despite himself, smiled a little. It was true that the Foxes were spectacularly persistent. Neil had been yanked this way and that in their efforts to assimilate him back into society, without him even asking them to. 

It seemed that Andrew was happy with the quiet, so they sat, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Or sensing, Neil supposed. He wondered what it’d be like to live in complete darkness. He relied so much on his ability to see to communicate—it was scary to think of that being taken away. 

He carefully opened his mouth and fought against the rise of bile in his throat as he said, “Thank you.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow. “It speaks.” 

Neil made a small noise, curling into a ball. 

“If you’re looking to find positive reinforcement, try elsewhere.” Andrew looked forward again. “I’m not the answer to your problems, and I’m not about to try and start coaxing you into recovery. That was why you moved here, wasn’t it? To recover?” Andrew’s lips twisted into a derisive sneer. 

Neil supposed that out of all the Foxes, he was the one who could truly relearn and re-establish himself as a functioning member of society, not hindered by a physical disability. He knew how to speak—he just couldn’t bring himself to. 

He’d always felt somewhat like a fraud, but this brought that to the forefront more than anything else. 

And yet, Andrew was wrong. 

n-o.

He arched his other delicate, blonde brow. “No?”

i-m—a-v-o-i-d-i-n-g—m-y—f-a-t-h-e-r.

Andrew hummed. 

Neil saw no reason why he should lie to him, or that he would be confronted by it, so he told him. 

Everything. 

*

It started with a newborn. The mother was disinterested, almost reluctant. Its little red curls and big blue eyes were cute, but she saw every bit of her husband in the face of that child. 

The father was busy. Busy enough that he left his wife alone to recover from birth, busy enough that he didn’t seem to have time to acknowledge his own son. 

It went on like that. 

Nathaniel grew up, isolated but in no way less enthusiastic. His mother had a difficult time in getting him to behave, in getting him to remain quiet around his father. The first time the man hit his son was when he was just three years old, and the little boy didn’t want to go to bed. The crying alone was enough to anger the man: He looked at his son and knew that his wife wouldn’t be able to wheedle out his pathetic nature. So he grabbed his son by the neck, shook him, and threw him into his room. 

Shock remained for the following days. The little boy cried silently. 

So it continued. 

The boy found a few friends at school. He was rather quiet, timid, and often reluctant in sharing stories about himself. He never went swimming with his friends, though he knew how to swim. He never saw them outside of school, but he enjoyed and appreciated having friends all the same. 

It was a Thursday afternoon. The boy was helping his mother in the kitchen, washing and drying dishes silently. 

His father appeared at the doorway. The boy remained still and silent. 

He’ll go to Evermore next month, his father said. The Moriyamas will know what to do with him. 

The boy lashed out. Said no. Said he liked his school, his friends—he didn’t want to go anywhere new. 

He knew he’d made a mistake when his father backhanded him, and his jaw caught against the corner of the bench top. Before the boy could collapse, the father held him by his hair, hair that was coloured and curled exactly like his own, and gazed into identical blue eyes. 

But whilst the boy’s trembled with fear, his own spasmed with anger. 

He threw his son against the countertop again, and blood from his nose sprayed out across the marble. He let the feeble body of his son drop to the floor. 

You’re a monster, his wife said. 

He’ll thank me when he’s older, he replied. 

He shouldn’t have left the house that evening. His wife, having finally grown a spine, packed two bags and called her brother. His son was taken from their local hospital over to his wife’s homeland. 

He saw neither of them again. 

The boy grew up to be a man. The boy’s jaw was fixed, but the trauma remained, and the lengthy time that he was healing and unable to move his jaw lead to the boy’s reluctance to speak. He couldn’t even bring himself to cry out against his mother when she insisted that he spoke, when she pulled his hair and berated him and pinched the painful hinge of his jaw. 

I didn’t run away just for you to be a useless recluse, she’d insist, over and over.

Then she died of lung cancer. The boy hadn’t cried.

A call rattled the home-phone, where it was stuck on the wall, one evening. The boy’s uncle stood to pick it up, and his brows furrowed when he understood who was on the other line. 

It was a widowed husband, looking to take back his son and fix the past. 

The boy and uncle decided it was a good time to move elsewhere, to leave the memory of his mother and father behind.

So he threw a dart.

*

Andrew was quiet for a while. It was growing cold as the wind began to pick up: No one had disturbed them. No one had even found them. 

“Why did you tell me?” Andrew said, apprehensive. 

Neil shrugged before remembering Andrew couldn’t see, and took his hand carefully again. 

d-o-n-t—k-n-o-w.

Andrew snatched his hand away. “If you did it to get something out of me—“

Neil snapped his fingers twice. _No._

Andrew frowned, but some of the tension had bled out of his shoulders. Andrew had existed purely on transactions his entire life, so Neil’s honesty had to have strings. 

But it didn’t. Neil was tired: He was stressed and anxious and _tired_. Andrew had already heard his voice, heard the rawest, most intimate facet of him, and yetwas still sitting beside him. He traced the shape of Andrew's profile with his eyes and wondered if Andrew had experienced something similar as a child.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Andrew poked Neil’s cheek. He missed Neil's cheek entirely, his finger brushing over Neil's lips. “Like I said. I’m not your answer.” 

Neil hummed gently. 

His phone was buzzing. He drew it out of his pocket and saw that Matt was calling. 

Andrew sighed and took the phone from Neil’s hand, raising it to his ear. “Yes. He’s with me. He’s fine. Fuck off. We’ll be back soon.” He hung up on Matt and threw the phone back to Neil, who caught it to prevent it bouncing off the roof of a three-storey building. “Idiots.” He glanced to Neil, not seeing him, but still knowing him. “Let’s go back.”

Neil couldn’t help it. He smiled. 

*


	4. return

**come over Kevin’s drivelling is enough to make me want to strangle him**

_This is Andrew’s number, isn’t it?_

**no shit**

_How is it that you can text?_

**special phone reads my texts out to me and lets me to speech-to-text. And it has Braille features.**

_Oh_

_I don’t know where you and Kevin live_

**well figure it out before I snap Kevin in half**

_he’s paralysed it doesn’t seem like a fair fight_

**when have I ever cared about what is fair?**

_when have you ever cared, period?_

**once. Almost killed me. I learned my lesson.**

**just come over**

_okay_

*

“Where’d you spend yesterday afternoon?” Matt inquired curiously, shuffling through an odd selection of DVDs. Neil was at his and Dan’s apartment for Sunday dinner: Stuart was absolutely _thilled_ that Neil was going out twice in two consecutive days, but Neil didn’t truly consider this as an ‘outing’. Matt had truly latched onto him, and the three of them talked Exy in a much more constructive manner than Kevin did with Neil. Neil couldn’t sign very well with Dan, but she helped him with his ASL, teaching Matt simultaneous. 

“It’s good that you’re here when she tries to teach me ASL.” Matt whispered one afternoon spent at the Foxhole, crowded around the kitchen dining table. “I usually end up distracting her.”

Neil screwed up his nose and Matt laughed. 

There was another thing Neil suddenly had to think about in a way he never had before. 

Nicky was overzealous and talked flamboyantly about his boyfriend Erik, who was the same Erik that hung around the Foxhole enough that Neil had eventually put a name and face together. He’d been Nicky’s carer when he was younger, but stopped when they started dating. Nicky’s two topics of conversation were Erik and their slow but not stagnant progress in the adoption process.

Even with a partner and a child on the way, Nicky wasn’t in the slightest bit shy about expressing his appreciation for Neil’s appearance, and Erik didn’t seem to mind. Neil remained baffled by the entire thing. 

The Seth-Allison-Renee mess was another series of relationships that he learned about over time. Seth and Allison had dated on and off, but Seth’s drug problem combining with his severe Haemophilia A meant he was constantly putting himself at risk and Allison grew tired of it eventually, sending him off to rehab. He came back different, and they’d both acknowledged it wasn’t what was right for them. Seth was still an asshole, but even Neil could recognise that was a pretty mature way of handling things. They were still close, and it was very obvious that Allison was in love with Renee, and Renee was in love with Allison. 

Kevin apparently had a girlfriend up in Virginia. Aaron and another carer of Foxhole, Katelyn, were flirting. Abby and Wymack kept their relationship hidden away but many of the Foxes insisted Wymack would propose soon. Matt and Dan, obviously, were to be wed in February. 

It seemed like almost everyone was, or had been, romantically involved with someone. Neil had never thought he could. He’d never wanted to, really, but the other Foxes were insistent. 

“I have someone _dying_ to meet you, Neil!” Nicky called one afternoon over the back of the couch. “They really love the whole mysterious vibe you have going on. You could go out and grab some coffee with them?”

“Nicky,” Andrew grinned maniacally. “He’s uncomfortable. Isn’t that interesting? You’re seemingly incapable of connecting his body language and your posturing, but I can, and I can’t even see him. Hilarious!”

Neil decided that he hated Andrew’s medication. It added fluorescent lights across things that shouldn’t be laughed about, distorting Andrew’s perceptions and realities. Andrew liked to have control over his own actions and words, and that took it away from him. Neil understood that it was just the combination of medications, but there had to be a better solution. 

Andrew must have noticed Neil’s lingering gaze, because he flipped Neil off, grinning even wider. Neil merely rolled his eyes and padded into the discourse room. 

“Neil, are you still with us?”

Neil had zoned out again, getting lost in his own mind. He flushed, curling into a ball on Matt’s couch. _Sorry_, he mouthed, rubbing his eyes. 

“Don’t worry! We know you’re a little spacey.” He grinned. “We’re used to it.”

Dan breezed into the room, handing out bowls of curry and rice. “What are we watching?”

“Still unsure. I was just asking what Neil did yesterday afternoon.”

Neil ate a spoonful of Dan’s dinner—which was really good—and picked up his notepad. 

_Went over to Andrew’s. Brought Kevin back from panic about upcoming trial and stress-induced phantom pain. The usual._

Dan arched an eyebrow. “Andrew let you come over? That’s rare.”

Neil gave them an inquisitive look. Matt sighed. 

“Andrew lived alone until Kevin came tumbling down here. Nicky and both of the twins lived together through their senior high school years, but then Aaron went off to med-school and Nicky eventually moved in with Erik. Aaron’s back but is staying with Nicky, because Andrew sold the house for a flat in downtown Palmetto. Point is—“ Matt coughed. “Andrew’s space is Andrew’s space and never lets anyone but Renee and his family in. Even then, he prefers to meet them outside of his apartment.”

_Personal space is important._ Neil wrote. _But I’m sure he just made an exception for me to help Kevin._

“Why does Kevin trust your judgement, anyway?”

Neil hummed lightly. _We were meant to go to school together—we never did, but the Moriyamas and my family run in similar circles. He thinks I got away from them and is trying to take a leaf out of my book._

“When did you guys discuss all this? Seems a little odd to merely stumble upon in conversation.”

Neil laughs dryly—silently, but dryly all the same—and tells them to give him five minutes to write down what happened. 

*

“For fuck’s sake,” Kevin muttered, looking at his phone. 

Neil and Kevin were at the gym. Neil always knew Kevin was health-obsessed, but they hadn’t organised to go to the gym together for months after Neil’d turned up to the Foxhole. Neil liked just going for runs around the neighbourhood, but Kevin insisted that he should do some of his cycles, and recommended a disabled-friendly gym that was attached to a physiotherapist. Neil had no interest in Kevin’s weight-training and core stabilisation, but the leg work-outs he did to avoid atrophying were pretty good for a pair of working legs too. 

Kevin never really asked for conversation anyway, so it worked out pretty well. 

Neil looked at him, waiting for an explanation. Kevin sighed, typing back. “Aaron’s gone and taken the car out for a date with Katelyn and can’t pick me up.” 

_Why did Andrew get such an expensive car if he can’t even use it?_ Neil wrote, on a rather crumpled piece of paper. 

“Beats me.” Kevin muttered, wheeling himself down the ramp. “I guess I’ll have to take the bus. Fucking hooray. People get so freaked out by the amputation scars.” 

Neil nodded, familiar with the averted eyes and flinches. He balanced the paper on top of Kevin’s head and wrote another message. _My uncle’s coming to pick me up, we’ll drop you home._

“Yeah?” 

Neil nodded. 

Kevin relaxed. “Thanks.”

Stuart’s car wasn’t really built in mind for Kevin and his wheelchair, but being hemiplegic, he could somewhat haul himself in. Neil folded down the chair the best he could and shoved it into the boot. 

“Thank you for dropping me home, sir.” 

“Nonsense.” Stuart claimed. “Anything for Abram’s new friends, eh? What did you say your name was?”

“Kevin Day, sir.”

Stuart paused, glancing up in the rear-view mirror. “No. Really?”

Kevin hesitated. “Yes.”

“Kayleigh’s son?” 

Neil looked—glared, really—at Uncle Stuart. What on earth was he talking about?

Stuart grit his teeth. “You and Neil were to go to school together, before Mary snatched Neil away and came to the UK. Evermore Academy, Neil. Don’t you remember?” 

Did Neil remember? It was sometimes all Neil _could_ remember. How could they have simply glossed over this? 

Kevin’s eyes narrowed. “Surely not. Are you kidding? I thought Wesninski Junior was dead! Your father claimed you were fine but word got around. Are you really Nathaniel?” 

_Nathaniel, Nathaniel, Nathaniel. Do as I tell you, nothing less, nothing more. Nathaniel. Nate. Nathan Junior. Junior, come out of hiding. I’ll count down from three. Junior, you’ve disobeyed me. Disappointed me. Junior. Nathaniel. Junior. **Nathaniel**_—

“Neil!” Stuart hand his hand upon Neil’s shoulder, having pulled over to the side of the road. “Neil, listen to me, it’s alright. It’s just me and Kevin here. In the car. We’re in Palmetto. You’re safe.”

_I’m counting down from three, Nathaniel. If you’re not where I asked you to be by zero, we’re going to have a serious issue. 3…2…1…_

“Don’t call me that.” Neil croaked. 

Both his uncle and Kevin looked at him, incredulous. 

“I won’t,” Kevin said. “I didn’t mean to—“

Neil made a dismissive gesture, meaning _I know_. 

“Just—wow.” Stuart said. “What a small world. I heard what Riko did to you, son.”

“Everyone seems to know.” Kevin muttered. 

Stuart shrugged. “It’s the grapevine. You’re persecuting him, aren’t you?”

“He’ll never be sent to jail.” Kevin said sullenly. “The Moriyamas are too powerful, too wealthy to allow a son with the Moriyama name to go to jail.” He looked between Neil and Stuart, who had somewhat recovered, albeit in a hiccuped fashion. “Why are the two of you in America again? Your father’s alive, isn’t he?”

“Unfortunately,” Stuart said, with a grimace. “But Mary died about a year and a half ago, and we both decided it was time for a change of scenery. We’re here by chance, completely.”  
“Small world.” Kevin said weakly. 

Neil and Stuart nodded. 

_3….2…1…_

It was a silent drive home. 

*

Neil omitted all parts surrounding his father in his retelling, which wasn’t hard. Also that he spoke. Because of a panic attack. Due to Kevin recalling his old name. They didn’t need to know he’d changed names.

“Crazy,” Matt appreciated. “Never knew no one else who was meant to go to Evermore academy. Seems like a cult.”

Matt honestly wasn’t far off. 

Neil just shrugged. 

*

“New medication trials start tomorrow.” Andrew said, one night upon his balcony. 

Neil hummed gently. r-e-a-d-y?

“I couldn’t care less.” He muttered. 

Neil began humming under his breath, looking up at the stars. He opened his lips and sung gently: 

_tell tale snitch, _

_Your tongue shall be slit, _

_And all the dogs in town, _

_Shall have a little bit._

“I hate you.” Andrew said, moving to grind his cigarette out: Neil caught his fingers, drew the cigarette up to his own mouth and took a draw from where it rested between Andrew’s fingers. 

He gently blew it against Andrew’s cheek and Andrew ground his teeth, flicking the cigarette into the wind and using his warm fingertips to grasp Neil’s chin. 

“I _hate_ you.” He insisted. 

“I know.” Neil said. 

That seemed to be the last straw as Andrew stalked inside, slamming the sliding door behind him. 

*

**3**

Neil frowned at his phone. He’d finally gotten around to putting in contacts into his uncle’s—no, his—phone, but this was an unknown number.

He could ask who it is, but it’s most likely an accident, so he deletes the conversation and settles his phone to his side. 

They’re outside in Dan’s garden, soaking up the sun. It’s in the midst of winter, so sun is rare, and Neil likes the way the sunbeams shine through the smoke that curls from Andrew’s mouth. 

Neil doesn’t ask for a cigarette, Andrew’s second-hand smoke more than enough to recall his mother in detail. Short, angry and persistent. Daring, but also responsible. He missed her more than he could say.

Neil tapped on the back of Andrew’s hand. The man sighed, as though this hadn’t become a compulsory part of their routine, and offered his hand. 

Neil rested it on his thigh and was suddenly struck by how intimate that was. 

d-a-n—s-a-y-s—y-o-u—d-o-n-t—l-e-t—n-o—o-n-e—c-o-m-e—o-v-e-r—t-o—y-o-u-r—p-l-a-c-e.

“There was no question in that?”

w-h-y—m-e?

“I hate you.” Andrew said, his head dropping down his his chest. He ground the cigarette between his fingers out against the garden’s only bench, before finding the butt jar under the chair’s leg. It was moments like these that struck Neil: Andrew, characterised as apathetic and soulless, would never carelessly flick his finished cigarette into Dan’s garden, despite his open disinterest in any of the Foxes outside of his little niche corner. “You shuffle in here, a nothing and a no one, and go and do that.” 

Neil took a deep breath, and whispered “Do what?”

Andrew’s eyelids fluttered: Neil saw glimpses of the golden-hazel irises within, watching intently as the blonde lashes fanned across his cheeks. Neil let Andrew remove his hand from under Neil’s fingertips, but didn’t flinch away as Andrew brought it to the back of his neck. 

_“That.”_

The angry, hiss-like whisper was rendered futile when Andrew pressed their lips together, more gentle than Neil’d ever known. 

He’d kissed exactly one girl, at a neighbour’s party he’d snuck out to when he was probably thirteen or fourteen. He’d grown anxious with the crowded sitting rooms and retreated into a bedroom instead, where a group of six or seven were playing spin the bottle. 

They dragged him over to join, not even bothering to ask his name, even though he didn’t go to school, and none of them knew who he was. He remembered his palms sweating as he gripped his jeans, watching the bottle spin.   
The girl he’d leaned up to kiss was stout and cheery, with ringlet curls and a ribbon in her hair. It’d been chaste and lip-balm sweet, and Neil had escaped from their room the first moment he got, slipping back through his window to no avail. 

“Neil Hatford,” His mother hissed, almost ripping out his hair as she fisted his curls in her grasp. “You ungrateful _child_.”

This was nothing like that. There was no bottle, no immature teens giggling behind their hands, no terribly autotuned music and weak beers stolen from parents’ fridges. 

This was basked in warm sunshine, and felt like it too. His lips were soft—Neil didn’t even realise lips _were_ this soft—and his hand was a warm presence at the back of his neck, sliding along his collar to hook two fingers and twist, pulling Neil closer. 

But across his tongue was anger and apathy. The quick gasp for air was hate-fuelled attraction and nothing else. He couldn’t care about Neil, and Neil didn’t want him to: The prospect of friends, of settling, of _living_ in Palmetto was still painful to think about. He’d always been isolated, and kissing one of the Foxes was making him feel like he wasn’t. 

He wasn’t lucky enough for that. He didn’t deserve to have someone want to share their life with him. 

But he could enjoy this, because Andrew wanted the exact opposite. It was alright. 

Andrew pulled back, letting go of Neil’s shirt like it singed his skin. 

“Oh,” Neil whispered, still unsure of using his voice. The press of skin to skin made him feel like singing. 

“Idiot.” Andrew snarled, closing himself off again. Neil watched as he locked the doors and boarded up all the windows, storming inside and kicking up the dust.

Neil stayed where he was to collect himself. It didn’t really work: He was called inside five minutes later anyway for the discourse session. 

“You alright, bud?” Matt jostled him as he sat down upon a beanbag, between Matt and Andrew’s couch. Andrew was staring off into space. 

“He’s fine.” Andrew said flatly. Neil rolled his eyes.

Wymack looked between them. “Alright then.”

The session began.

*

Neil sung gently as Sir watched him make breakfast-for-dinner, English style. It was Stuart’s favourite, and Neil felt like he owed him that much.

The man had quit his job at an English law firm and now worked admin at the local hospital, a job he was over-qualified and underpaid for. 

_Hi_, Neil signed, when Stuart arrived into the kitchen, pushing the plate of food across the bench. Stuart’s eyes narrowed when he smiled, and he took a seat at the bench. “Grilled tomatos, beans, sausages, hash browns, mushrooms and properly poached eggs. You shouldn’t have, Abram.”

_I still feel bad._

“I want to be here as much as you do.” He said, around a mouthful of sourdough bread. Neil put on the kettle: He didn’t like tea, but his uncle did. “I felt stifled at the farmhouse, Neil. Everywhere I looked, she was there. That’s no way to try and move on. Plus, if I hated my job, I’d get a new one.” He waved his fork at Neil. “So quit fretting and sit down to eat dinner with me.” 

Neil slid onto the stool and enjoyed the food. The beans were oddly too sweet, and the mushrooms starchy rather than fresh, but he did the best he could with American goods. He had a decaf coffee and Stuart had a cup of tea before retiring to bed. 

Before he drifted off to sleep, his phone buzzed again. 

**2**

_who is this?_ He asked. 

There was no reply. 

*

Neil’s attention had been officially drawn away from the Exy game on screen, rather, to listen to Dan. 

“I think it’ll be really good,” She said, scrolling through a website. “I can finally get a tertiary qualification for management and social work.” She glanced at Wymack and grinned. 

“Are you even watching?” Kevin demanded, jostling Neil’s shoulder. “The Ravens just scored out of the blue and you didn’t even flinch!” 

Neil sent him a scathing glare before turning his attention back to Dan. 

“It’s cheaper, and you’ll be able to modify it around any time you get sick.” Renee said approvingly. “It seems great, Dan.”

“I’m all for it, babe.” Matt grinned, grabbing her face between his hands and squishing her cheeks. “My baby’s going to college!”

“Online.” She laughed, waving him away. 

_What’s she talking about?_ Neil passed the note to Matt, who grinned. 

“Palmetto, the local university, has set up online courses. She’s always been so busy, stretched between her aunt and her baby cousin, the Foxhole, working at diners and cafes and in retail—now she can finally start a degree.” 

An online degree. Neil mulled it over, rolling his tongue between his teeth. He’d like that. It’d give him a chance to do something else without really—shoving him outside of his comfort zone.

Maybe he’d bring it up with Stuart later. 

His phone buzzed again and he drew it out, expecting it to be his uncle. 

**1**

_please go away_, he texted back. He couldn’t shake the odd clench to his stomach, the nausea that ricocheted up his throat. 

No. It was fine. He was fine. 

“You good, Neil?” Matt asked, ruffling his hair. 

Neil just nodded. 

*

“You kissed me.” Neil said. It was easier to talk to Andrew with every passing day. 

Andrew said nothing, gazing aimlessly at the ceiling. The medication won’t settle in for a few weeks, but a lack of the previous combination has him still and unpredictable. The couch of his small living room was comfortable and soft, and Neil sunk into the Kevin-sized dent until it almost swallowed him. Kevin was at Wymack’s, having dinner with his father. Neil and Andrew were alone. 

“Do you regret it?” Neil leaned forward slightly. “Kissing me.”

“I don’t believe in regret.” Andrew closed his eyes. 

“Would you do it again?” Neil asked, braver with every word that trespassed across his lips. Some days he couldn’t fathom speaking to anyone, but some days he felt close enough to Andrew that his voice wasn’t strained by pretences, by fear. 

Andrew’s head turned, chin tilted towards Neil. He’d gotten Andrew’s attention. 

“Because I would.” He whispered. 

“You don’t know what that means.” Andrew accused. 

“No, but I—“ He choked slightly, tongue still fumbling around things he’d never said to someone, and never thought he would. “But I want to find out.” 

Andrew had shuffled across the couch in an instant, kneeling beside Neil with obvious intent. Neil let his hands guide Neil’s chin, brushing across his neck and down his shoulders, down his arms, until he grabbed Neil’s wrists and shoved them between Neil’s back and the couch. 

“Don’t touch me.” Andrew growled, before throwing his leg over Neil’s lap. 

It was absolutely—Neil couldn’t describe it. It was all new and all invigorating and all encompassing. Neil never wanted Andrew to stop, which was odd, because he’d never felt like this about no one before. Andrew’s hands slid over his shirt and down his chest, and Neil knew he could feel the scars, the distortions of a warped childhood, but said nothing about it. He had Neil in a corner, resting over him with his own hands trapped behind his back, but Neil was anything but trapped. Andrew’s bruising lips had him suspended, free, and more reckless than ever before. 

It happened so fast—Andrew pulled Neil’s hands out from behind his back to wind his fingers in Andrew’s hair, then he was pushing his hands under the hem of Neil’s shirt with a profane _yes or no_, to which Neil had just murmured _god, Andrew, yes_—then fingertips skimmed the waistband of his jeans, fingers fumbling for buttons, nails scraping against his scalp as his lips brushed away from Neil’s mouth and towards his cheek, leaning forward to graze against the shell of his ear. 

Neil took his chance, pressing his lips against Andrew’s neck. A shiver glimmered across his skin and Neil almost hiccuped with surprise at the response. 

It seemed like merely a matter of moments between Andrew’s definitive shiver and Neil being promptly abandoned, underwear tucked back over his hips and Andrew stalking off into his room. 

Neil sat for a moment, absolutely debauched, elated, and impossibly bone-deep tired. He tidied himself quickly, before settling back into the couch and waiting for Andrew to return. 

He did, eventually, albeit with the same blank mask that Neil had become so familiar with. Neil took his hand. 

g-o-i-n-g—h-o-m-e

“Wore your voice out, did you?” Andrew muttered. Neil gave him a small shove, but drew _y/n?_ on Andrew’s hand. 

“Fuck off.” Andrew grunted as they walked to Andrew’s front door. “Yes.”

Neil pressed a gentle kiss at the corner of Andrew’s jaw before letting himself out. 

His phone buzzed. 

**0**

It was both ominous and anticlimactic, but impossible to dwell on with Andrew’s kisses still pressed into his skin. He hummed gently all the way home, as he was waiting for the bus, on the bus, and walking back to his little house. 

He unlocked the front door and turned on the hallway lights, dropping his keys onto the small table by the door. He continued into the kitchen, where Stuart was already sitting at the bench. He was still: The lights were still off. 

Neil shook his head at his uncle’s antics, flipping the lights on. 

“Hello, junior.” 

It winded him enough that he took a step back, clutching at his throat. 

His father turned around upon his stool, wearing a thin smile and red curls that cascaded just like Neil’s, his gaze piercing with blue eyes just like Neil’s, but with intent that was anything but. 

“When I realised you have moved back to the States, I was upset.” He stood up, towering over him. “My own son, forgetting to visit me? Shameful.”

Neil was shaking, his entire body convulsing with fear. He was just like Neil remembered, in slacks and a black button-down that was loosened at the throat and rolled up to his elbows. His shoes were perfectly polished. 

“I think it’s high time you returned home, son.” He stood in front of Neil. “Look at me when I talk to you, Nathaniel. Did that bitch teach you nothing?”

Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest as he gazed upwards. 

His father grinned at Neil’s obedience, snatching the phone out of his limp hand and tossing it onto the floor. The screen cracked. “Shall we?” 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to make it fluffy and then my hand slipped


	5. home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is lots of violence and abuse (n*than), also derogatory slurs (r*ko), and discussion about andrew's history

All remnants of his childhood had been stripped from this room. Neil stood on a black rug in the centre, beneath a garishly yellow-tinted light that flickered with age. No one would have entered this room since it was stripped years ago. Dust swarmed in the afternoon light that peered through the blinds, Neil’s presence and the new bed and wardrobe disturbing the settled particles on the window sills and the edges of the skirting boards. 

Unopened packages of sheets lay on the bed’s mattress. He had brought nothing from his place with Stuart to fill the wardrobe and felt hollow, stripped of all things he cared about. The least he can do is take out the sheets, stretching them over his mattress and shoving his pillow into the case with more aggression than he intends to express. 

He wonders how long it’ll be before Nathan breaks him. He hadn’t returned here for years, almost a decade, but it was still present in his worst dreams, both waking and sleeping. 

“Junior,” Comes a delicate voice. He recognises it, but only because he’d disliked this woman just as equally as his father. Lola Malcom had once been just a mere assistant, but by the looks of the ring on her finger, it was more permanent than that. She still had that red-lipped smile, satisfied whenever little Neil had hurt himself, or had taken his father’s beating, or cried. 

He’d spit fire at her if he could open his mouth. He’d scream for the neighbours or call the Foxes and beg for them to come take him away if he could just talk, but he couldn’t, and Neil’s father relied upon that. 

“I heard you’re a little silent freak, now.” She wafts into the room like poisonous smoke rolls across the floor, pinching his jaw between her blood-red nails. It twinged, just like she knew it would. “Such a shame. I would have loved to be called Mother. That’s what I am now, aren’t I?” Her teeth were white. Neil wanted to smash them in. 

He cast his gaze aside instead. 

“Come downstairs.” She insisted, standing away from him. “We’re having a guest for dinner. He’s your age. You just might get along.” 

*

Neil’s sitting across from his father, with Lola on his left and Riko Moriyama on his right, and he has no idea what to do. 

Riko wasn’t even supposed to be allowed out of West Virginia, and yet here he was, sitting at his dining table for roast lamb in Baltimore. Neil ate almost nothing, keeping himself busy by tearing his meat to tiny shreds and wishing he could disappear. 

“How’s your trial going against that pathetic dead-weight?” Lola inquired, pausing to take a sip of her wine. 

Riko doesn’t even acknowledge Neil as he smiled, easy, amiable. “He’s deranged. It’ll never pass though.”

“Your father and I have ensured that.” Nathan nodded with a satisfied smile. “Quite a perplexing group he’s found there.”

“Oh, yes, that pathetic little circle he’s found under his father’s care. An abysmal bunch. One of them was almost jailed for manslaughter.”

Lola laughed. “I heard!”

“But the Minyard mutt played the blind card and got off scott-free.” Riko stabbed at his food, almost like a petulant child. Neil very much hated him. 

“I bet he was passed around like nothing in the foster system.” Nathan drawled. “Foul men need their satisfaction like everyone else, and nothing’s easier than a blind boy.”

Neil was going to throw up. 

“Yes, he claimed he was subject to many sexually abusive relationships within various homes.” Riko waved his hand. “It was apparently why his twin killed that man, Spear, in the first place. Found them together.”

“How delightfully horrific,” Lola purred. 

Neil hid his shaking hands the best he could until his father dismissed him. He took his plate to the kitchen and hurried up the stairs till he fell through his bedroom door, wishing he could slam it shut behind him. Instead, he gently closed it without making a sound, before collapsing to his knees before his bed and dry-heaving. 

The door swung open but Neil simply couldn’t bring himself to look at his father’s scrutinising gaze, his malicious snarl. He just couldn’t. He wished Stuart would come and whisk him away but the chances were that Nathan would hide Neil away as soon as he heard Stuart was coming. His father was a businessman, not a criminal, but he had eyes everywhere. He saw and heard everything. It was the only reason for his success. 

“We could have been friends, in another life.” 

Riko Moriyama crouched down in front of Neil’s frame with a calculating gaze. He surveyed Neil for his weaknesses, his strengths, determined to wheedle out the most satisfying way to make Neil hurt simply from his facial expressions. 

“You would have come to school with Kevin and I.” Riko smiled slowly. “You wouldn’t have turned into this excuse of a man, would you? I heard you had quite the tongue on you before the cat snatched it away.”

Neil sucked in a deep breath, letting it spin in his chest like a wound-up spring, before rasping out an infuriated: _“Fuck you.”_

Riko was, obviously, shocked. As far as he knew, Neil’d never spoken to anyone since the _accident_. He stood with an angry curl to his shoulders and his fists, kicking Neil square in the chest. It sent him sprawling back onto his bedroom rug. 

“Your father should have cut your tongue out and forced it down your throat,” Riko hissed. “You’re just as pathetic as the rest of them. Fucking retard.”

He slammed the door behind him: Neil relished in the shake of the walls, the dust that rained down from cracks in the ceiling. 

He sat on his bedroom floor, refusing to feel helpless, refusing to be scared. 

No. He was just bitter. Angry and bitter.

The night passed quietly. 

*

Neil paced grooves into the floorboards. He’d woken up early to go to the bathroom, adjacent to his room, and fell asleep again afterwards, but when he’d woken up again, the bedroom door was locked on him. From the outside. A parcel of clothes and toiletries and spare blankets had laid upon Neil’s bed, and he was horrified that he slept through someone coming into his room, leaving said package, and locking him inside. 

Without knowing when he would be let out, or what time it was, he set to unpacking. The clothes were all trim and proper, and would fit tightly, showing off his scars. He shuddered when thinking about it, reluctant as he carefully folded the garments and placed them into the new wardrobe. There were three new pairs of shoes, but nothing too heavy. Nothing Neil could use to defend himself.

The doorknob twisted when Neil was almost finished, the methodical movements distracting him from the daunting prospect of staying within this house for an entire day. And the next one. And the one after that. 

He bit the tip of his tongue to keep himself from letting out a choked sob. 

“Morning, pumpkin.” Lola said, eyelids glittering and words dripping with poison. “Coming to breakfast?” 

Her giggle followed her as she walked away, but Neil followed anyway. 

Nathan was absent, much to Neil’s relief. Lola wasn’t pleasant to sit opposite to, but she was incomparable against his father. He ate slowly, chewing to avoid his jaw aching or locking, but Lola had other ideas. 

“Your father gave me a very comprehensive list of instructions to get you rehabilitated back into your position as his son.” She stood from the table with a garish grin. “Shall we get started?’’

There was nothing Neil could do as her fingers curled in her sleeve, dragging him down the hallway and down the stairs tucked away at the back. Neil became increasingly resistant, pulling against her the best he could until she grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him down the stairs. 

In the basement there was an old couch, a basin, boxes of old files. She shoved him into the room and he stumbled over his own feet, almost landing on his knees. He glared over his shoulder at her but she simply clapped with delight. 

“If you like silence so much, why don’t you spend some time in isolation?” She blew him a kiss. “You might find your shadow rather amiable. If you want to be let out, you’ll have to call for me, Nathaniel.” She let the door slam and bolted it shut with a cackle, tapping up the stairs in her stupid little heels. 

Neil sunk onto the ground, head in his hands. 

*

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed between one visit and the next. They stagnated it, feeding him at weird hours, turning the lights off (from the outside) at weird hours, and taunting him irregularly but often enough that Neil was about ready to snap. They chucked him clothes and let him out to the bathroom once a day, but that was it.

“Junior.” 

Neil scrambled to his feet. Lola had come down, the maid had come down, even Riko, but never his father. It must have been days since he’d been thrown down here, but he hadn’t seen his father once. 

Yet here he stood, with his arms crossed as he gazed at Neil with distaste. 

Neil bowed his head slightly, keeping his arms crossed. 

“Have you had enough?” He asked. 

Neil nodded, trying not to seem desperate. 

His father frowned. “Answer me, don’t just nod. Yes, sir.”

Neil’s lips parted and he went to say it, to do what he wanted of Neil, because it was self-preservation and he would grow infuriated if Neil refused, but all that came was a weak exhale. Neil couldn’t bring himself to say anything. 

His father’s hand smacked across Neil’s bad cheek, hard enough to give Neil whiplash. With no time to recover, his father grabbed him by the neck and squeezed hard, stalking back until he could smash Neil into the concrete wall. Neil let out a silent cry. 

“You are _pathetic!_ I bring you home, I give you all that you need, and you continue to remain silent, remain useless! I am ashamed of you and all that you are. You are not my son.” He snarled. 

_So why am I here?_ He thought desperately, clawing at his father’s wrists as he struggled to breath. _Why did you bring me here?_

“I might just kill you.” He snapped. “I’ve never done it before, but you are more than deserving. I already know just where to bury your pieces. You have humiliated me in front of the Moriyama son, in front of countless prospects and respectable clients. My own wife and son vanished on me without warning, and there was nothing but speculation. I should crush your skull between my bare hands. Or maybe I’ll cut open your throat and snip your vocal cords: Then you’d know what being mute truly is, you fraudulent little attention whore. Just like your goddamned mother. You hear me?” He slammed Neil against the wall again. “Speak, goddamnit!”

Neil made a weak noise, to which his father responded with disgust before throwing him onto the floor. Nathan stalked over to the door and slammed it behind him, turning out the lights as he stormed up the stairs. 

Neil clawed at his bruising throat until he could suck in a breath, then another, then a third. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. 

He hated this fucking room. 

He imagined what Andrew would say to this. If he hated it so much, why the fuck was he still stuck down here? Why was he going along with his father’s bullshit, if he was an adult? Nathan had no jurisdiction over him any longer. It was the neglected child within him that wanted to cling onto something that had never been real, something that had actively wedged a knife under his ribs. 

He lifted his chin, and suddenly, the room wasn’t so dark.

*

“Darling, Junior.” Lola crooned. “I’ve got some food for you.” The doorknob twisted. 

Neil stood behind the door with a thick wad of files he’d procured from the old paperwork, holding it in a steadfast grip. She entered without hesitation, turning on the lights and stepping into the room with a depressingly dismal amount of what looked like burnt rice. Neil didn’t care what it was: He took her moment of stillness as she looked around the room to step out and whack her across the back of the head with all the strength he could muster. She dropped the tray to the floor and stumbled, glaring over her shoulder with a feral snarl. 

It was too late. He’d picked up the wooden board and proceeded to whack her again with it, watching with awful satisfaction as her eyes rolled up into her head and she slumped onto the floor. 

He searched her pockets. She had nothing on her person but the keys used to lock him in and her phone. Neil snatched the mobile but could only hope the house was empty and he’d be able to lock her in and escape without complications to get some cash to get away. 

He shut the door and locked it securely, toeing up the stairs carefully. 

As was Neil’s luck, voices emanated from the dining room. Neil froze. 

“…You’re accusing me of such ludicrous acts, Hatford. Really, kidnap my own son? He’s an adult. I cannot dictate where the boy goes.”

“He would never have left willingly,” His uncle growled, and Neil had never heard such a soothing voice. 

“You don’t know him, Stuart.” Nathan laughed. It sent a shiver down Neil’s spine. “I thought _she_ would have never left willingly, either. I loved her. We were happy.”

“You fucking bastard. You hurt her—you hurt _him!_. I’ll fucking call the police on you, Wesninski—“

“You can search every room, I assure you, he’s not here.” 

The phone in his hand buzzed. 

**Bookcase in front of basement door.**

He glanced at the prior texts to copy Lola’s style and almost gagged at the way she spoke. 

_Of course, dear, xoxoxoxo _

“Aren’t you a little minx,” A voice whispered in his ear. “How’d you escape? That’s Lola’s phone isn’t it?” 

No, no, no—

Riko had his arm around Neil’s neck, the other hand snatching the phone out of Neil’s grasp. “Your uncle came with good company, did you know? Kevin and his blind mouse. They’re sitting right there: Of course I had to come around. I wouldn’t miss a chance to catch up with old friends, especially when they’ve willingly come this far, would you?” Neil could _hear_ the man’s grin. “Let’s get you out of here before your uncle sees you, shall we?”

Neil thrashed. He clawed at Riko’s arm, which grew tighter around his neck, and kicked out his legs the best that he could as Riko dragged him back, but he’d been trapped in that basement for god knows how long and he felt dizzy and disoriented: There was light streaming through the windows, brighter than Neil’s eyes could accustom to, and the harshness of Riko’s angered breathing bore down on Neil’s neck and ears. He was surrounded by sensations that wound his body tighter and tighter, but he never stopped fighting against Riko. 

“Fucking quit it, you brat!” Riko snarled, throwing Neil against the nearest surface and punching into his stomach. Neil collapsed and came face to face with a familiar white marble. Its cool drew the warmth from Neil’s skin, soothing his throbbing bruises.

The very counter that began this fucked up cycle in the first place. Neil could see the corner that had hooked his jaw, watching the scene before his eyes. He couldn’t move. The phantom pain lanced down his neck and into his chest once more, and he opened his mouth to scream—

“You’re a fucked up spastic.” Riko snarled. “You kept Kevin away from me, you know that? He would have dropped all the charges against me and come back to stay by my side, even though I fucking chopped off his arm, the crazy fucker. You took that all away from me. I can’t wait to help your father bury you six feet under, you pathetic whore.”

He drew Neil's weak frame back once more and threw him against the marble. Neil wheezed: Something cracked in his chest and _throbbed._

“Charming,” Andrew said. Neil’s head twisted and he let out a small sound of relief. He was just the same, arm-bands, disinterested sneer and all, neatly pocketing a camera. Kevin stood at his shoulder, bone-white, whilst Andrew waved around his favourite knife. “Get your hands off him, Moriyama. You should know better than to touch what’s mine.”

Riko took two steps back and laughed. “You’re fucking crazy, Minyard.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed. “But I’m also much smarter than you, seeing as the police are here, you’re technically violating your parole by leaving your state, I’ve got your confession to Kevin’s assault and mutilation on my camera, and now the Wesninski dipshit who was protecting you is going to be arrested for kidnapping.” Andrew opened his eyes, revealing his glassy state. “Game over, Moriyama.” 

The front door burst inwards. Andrew hauled Neil out of the fray before chaos set in, but Neil stayed standing in his childhood house’s front yard, watching as the police shuffled out.

Riko was instructed to keep his hands above his head as he was marched towards the police car waiting at the curb. Two policemen went to the basement and brought out a groggy but infuriated Lola who cursed at Neil as she walked by him, lipstick smudged and eyes crazed. 

Nathan, who had already been pinned by Stuart in the living room, was cuffed and hauled to his feet, arriving upon the porch whilst still struggling to free himself from the cop’s grip. Neil stepped forward slightly as his father approached. 

The man simply gave him a disgusted once-over. “Any last words for your old man? Wait,” He laughed dismissively. “Of course not. How could I forget?”

Andrew put a hand on Neil’s shoulder, pulling him back. He was right—Nathan didn’t deserve Neil’s efforts. Revenge was pointless. And yet—

Neil shook free of Andrew’s grasp, uncaring of the presence of cops. His hand made a satisfying _crack_ across his father’s cheek, already leaving a red welt across his skin. 

“That was for Mum.” He whispered. His father’s head whipped the other way as Neil slapped him a second time. “And that was for me.”

“I’m going to pretend I never saw that.” The sergeant said, eyeing Neil’s bruises and bloody lip. He lead Neil’s father away, who was still blinking from shock. He hadn’t heard his son’s voice in a decade, and he’d never hear it again. 

Neil turned around, letting medics take him into their care. Andrew, Kevin and Stuart were cordoned off, being interviewed, as Neil was bandaged and iced. 

“Hey, kid.” An officer crouched down to him. “I heard you’re mute. Happy to write on a pad?”

Neil scrawled out his details with a shaking hand. Neil Abram Hatford, nee. Nathaniel Wesninski, 19, living in South Carolina. 

“You can type us up a statement from your local police-station, or anywhere that seems most comfortable. Seems like this is feeding into a bigger case. Sound good?” 

Neil nodded weakly. He just wanted to go home. 

The familiar tapping of Andrew’s cane on the ground beside him prompted him to lift his chin. 

“Never do this again. I fucking hate you.” Andrew said, meaning _don’t scare me like that._ He hauled Neil off the ground with a hand under the elbow but let Neil take his hand. 

i-l-l—t-r-y—m-y—b-e-s-t, meaning _I’m sorry._

Some things didn’t need to be said aloud. 

“C’mon.” Andrew guided him with a scant hand to the small of Neil’s back, away from his father’s house, away from Baltimore and Maryland. For good. “Stuart’s driving us home.” 

*

Neil pushed his hair away from his eyes and looked at the small cottage in front of him, its roses and lavender in full bloom. Spring was in full swing, and it gave the place life. The grass was lush and vibrant, and Dan’s citrus trees, visible over the courtyard’s fence, were blossoming.

“Have a good time!” Stuart called. He didn’t usually drop Neil off to the Foxhole anymore, but seeing as it was on his way and Neil had already been running late, he’d been happy to. 

Plus, Neil was going to move out soon, and Neil’s uncle seemed to be finding every excuse possible to keep Neil in his company, even though Neil suspected he’d be back at Stuart’s place every few nights to cook him his favourite English breakfasts for dinner. 

Neil waved him goodbye and started up the path. 

The same sign was pinned above the door, a little brighter than when Neil had first seen it: Renee had repainted it recently, sitting atop of Andrew’s shoulders and laughing good-naturedly. A leaf had floated onto the porch: Neil picked it up and flicked it away, knowing Abby swept the porch every morning and evening. 

He didn’t need to knock, as the door was, as usual, ajar. He let himself in, relieved by the air-con that reprieved the damned humidity of South Carolinian springs. He let his bag hang on the hook by the door, a little more full than usual, seeing as he was staying the night with Kevin and Andrew. 

He usually ended up wearing Andrew’s clothes, though. His smell was comforting.

As per usual, Abby was there to greet everyone upon arrival. She drew him into a hug without question, cradling him tight enough that his ribs twinged slightly. His lowest left rib had fractured against the marble bench top and had taken the projected eight weeks to heal. It was frustrating, to say the least. 

“I missed you.” She whispered, more affectionately than his mother had ever managed. He nodded, hugging her back. 

There was exy-reruns playing on the television, but everyone had moved into the discourse room, awaiting Neil’s return to the Foxhole’s support group. He walked in with his shoulders curled, but seeing the obvious glee scrawled upon his friends’ faces let him relax. 

Matt leaned dangerously far out of his chair to hug Neil before letting him join Andrew upon the couch. He and Dan had pushed their wedding back for Neil’s recovery, which was both unnecessary but—heart-wrenching. For Neil. He’d wanted to go so badly, coming to care for Dan and Matt so intensely as friends, so knowing they’d paused it all for him. 

Wymack acknowledged Neil with a lift in his chin. “Welcome, Neil.”

Neil nodded, and parted his lips. It was overdue for his proper introduction. The circle in front of him looked expectantly, but with comforting patience. Dan gave him an encouraging grin and Allison blew him a kiss. He let out a disdained huff before taking a deep breath. 

“Hi. My name is Neil Hatford, but I was once Nathaniel Wesninski. I’m nineteen and I moved to Palmetto about ten months ago with my uncle Stuart, who you’ve all met, and I’m also taking online classes at Palmetto like some of you to complete a degree majoring in mathematics…”

As Neil talked, voice warming slowly and growing stronger with every word, Andrew’s fingers crept under the pillow between them and interlocked their fingers together. 

Neil couldn’t stop grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for joining me on this journey!! i hope you enjoyed neil's growth throughout this. i know him talking to the foxes/his father might make him seem ''''cured''''' but he's not!! he's selectively mute: he'll carry that with him his whole life. trauma like that doesn't go away, but neil's mouth still seems to run away with him regardless lmao 
> 
> (yes i took the iconic 'fuck you' from the raven king scene at the banquet. that is the penultimate form of neil's anger-fuelled foul-mouthing don't fight me, he's so overcome with fury that he can't even roast riko properly and like we know the boy can ROAST)


End file.
